


Crazy little thing called love

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Inspired by a textpost, M/M, i can't be bothered to link it tho, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of moments in which the Bentley's tunes were...convenient, to say the least.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by a textpost on Tumblr by petimetrek (and the addition by catsilvia). Thanks for the idea!  
> (Also, yes, I am aware that The Great Pretender isn't a Queen song, but I couldn't resist an opportunity for some angst.)

The screech of tyres echoed across the street. Grey concrete was marred with blackened lines, burnt smell filling the air, thick with smog.

A shiny black blur zoomed past, narrowly avoiding a gaggle of people making their way across the street. It smelt of smoke and euphoria, somehow still impeccable tires screeching loudly. The people shook their heads, muttering about ‘young people these days’, making their way about their business. One of them started mentally writing a complaint letter.

None of them noticed that behind the wheel was, in fact, a grinning maniac in sunglasses, and next to him, a rather disgruntled angel.

Crowley was beaming wildly, a feral glint in his eyes, which were glowing red behind his shades. He pushed a snakeskin – clad boot onto the pedal, letting out a laugh as Aziraphale squeaked.

“Really, Crowley, I think you should slow dow – _look out for that pedestrian! –_ really, this is ridiculous!” he exclaimed.

“Calm down, angel, it’s perfectly fine,” Crowley drawled. Aziraphale didn’t look convinced.

“You’re going to kill someone! Slow down, right now, or I’m getting out,” the angel stated firmly, crossing his arms and immediately flinging them back out again, shielding himself from a violent swerve of the car.

“Killjoy,” muttered Crowley, feigning slowing down for a moment, before speeding up dramatically.

The angel squealed, scrabbling for something to steady his grip. The Bentley suddenly erupted with sound, Freddie Mercury’s voice blasting in their ears.

_I'm burning through the sky yeah!_

_Two hundred degrees_

_That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit_

_I'm traveling at the speed of light_

_I wanna make a supersonic man out of you_

Crowley let out an ecstatic laugh, sunglasses almost slipping off. Aziraphale squirmed in his seat, biting his lip.

“Crowley, stop, really! You’re going to hurt someone, or yourself, it’s really not safe...” he was cut off, as the demon spoke up.

“But it’s so fun, angel!” he purred. “Don’t you wanna have a little fun?” Aziraphale frowned.

“ _This_ isn’t fun!”

Crowley shook his head warily. “Your idea of fun is drinking tea and reading the Bible,” he groaned. “When was the last time you had some _real_ fun?”

The car had slowed down considerably, almost to a halt, as Crowley stared at Aziraphale, waiting for an answer.

“Well...” the angel said, looking a little guilty.

“Exactly,” Crowley grinned triumphantly. With that, the car launched itself forward, even faster than before.

Aziraphale, suddenly found himself, God forbid – _kind of enjoying it._

He started laughing, just a little, then a lot, releasing all of his pent up happiness, letting it all spill. He let the feelings of recklessness and edginess and euphoria and _Crowley_ sink into him, and he _laughed._

 

_Don't stop me now_

_I'm having such a good time_

_I'm having a ball_

_Don't stop me now I_

_f you wanna have a good time_

_Just give me a call._

***

The demon looked oddly somber as the angel hopped into the car, smiling at the golden-eyed face he hadn’t seen for a while.

“Hello, dear!” Aziraphale beamed, looking over to his companion. His smile faded a little as he saw the expression on the demon’s face.

“Are you alright, Crowley?” the angel asked, looking a little concerned.

Crowley feigned a smile. “Yeah, of course,” he said. After a pause, he added, “Haven’t seen you in a while, angel.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. True, he had been absent for a while, but it hadn’t been _that_ long, has it? A couple of weeks, perhaps? Or had it been longer?

They were both silent, as a tape in the Bentley started to play.

 

_Oh yes I'm the great pretender_

_Pretending I'm doing well_

_My need is such I pretend too much_

_I'm lonely but no one can tell_

Crowley let out an annoyed huff, attempting to turn the volume down, finding that the knob had somehow become stuck. He kept his eyes firmly on the road, refusing to look at the angel.

Aziraphale’s deep eyes filled with compassion. He heard the lyrics of the song, and realised that it had been more than just a couple of weeks.

Crowley had been alone, and he had forgotten. Too obsessed about his stupid books. Crowley didn’t have any other friends, not like he did. How could he have forgotten?

Stupid. Stupid angel.

“I was away too long, wasn’t I?” he muttered.

Crowley didn’t answer. Aziraphale sighed.

“Dear, you don’t have to hide your feelings from me,” he started. “Before I met you, I never would have thought that demons have feelings, but, _they do.”_

Crowley softened a little, finally looking at the angel. Aziraphale reached for the demon’s hand.

They both looked at each other, and they didn’t have to pretend. Because they knew each other, and loved each other, and had for the past six millennia. Crowley looked into the ocean eyes of the angel, of _his_ angel, and knew he was right.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. “I really am.”

The demon gave the angel a small smile, then regained his facade, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Lunch?” he asked the angel, and he nodded, and they both smiled, and didn’t have to pretend.

 

***

“So, what you’re saying is, that everyone is good?” the demon said, dubiously.

“Yes. I mean, no. Er...”

Aziraphale racked his drunken brain for what he was trying to say. The Bentley swerved as Crowley attempted to drive.

“It’s like...um...” the angel continued. “Well, okay. So, you are a demon, right?”

Crowley giggled. “Yeah, last time I checked.”

“But you’re, like, a good demon.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Way to rub it in,” he murmured. “Yes, I am, angel.”

“Right. But you aren’t really bad. So you don’t really deserve to go to Hell. At least, not entirely,” he said.

“...So you think everyone should go to Heaven?”

“Yes. No. Um...”

“We should sober up.”

The angel nodded in agreement, and the car straightened up on the road, driving suddenly smoother and less erratic.

Aziraphale laughed disbelievingly at the song that suddenly started playing, shaking his head.

 

_This could be heaven for everyone_

_This world could be fed, this world could be fun_

_This could be heaven for everyone_

_This world could be free, this world could be one_

“Are you sure that this car came from Earth, dear?” he asked, chuckling. “It’s almost...psychic.”

Crowley shrugged. The angel tilted his head, thinking.

“Maybe it’s my occult interference.” the demon supplied. “Or yours.”

“Ethereal, dear. Ethereal.”

 

_In this world of cool deception_

_Just your smile can smooth my ride_

_These troubled days of cruel rejection, hmm_

_You come to me, soothe my troubled mind_

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. His golden curls framed his face, light bouncing from him and forming what almost looked like a faint halo, on the top of his head. His eyes were full of compassion and sincerity, wise and beautiful with more grace than the common angel. And he smiled, at the demon, who he, somehow, had come to love.

“I think that you deserve to go to Heaven,” he said, quietly.

Crowley looked almost sad for a second, before smirking and dismissing the idea with a wave of a hand.

“Nah. Too boring for me,” he said, and pressed down the pedal, deciding that between Heaven and Hell, he liked Earth the best.

 

_This should be love for everyone, yeah_

_This world should be free, this world could be one_

_We should bring love to our daughters and sons_

_Love, love, love, this could be heaven for everyone._

***

 

The girl glared at Crowley from the rear view mirror, midnight eyes scrutinizing him deeply. She still seemed a little dazed, but Crowley could bet all of the demons in Hell that she would still be perfectly able with that bread knife.

Aziraphale was attempting to make pleasant conversation, asking questions and being answered in short, sharp replies. The girl was still staring down at her bike, immaculate and shiny. It looked brand new, like she’d just bought it, all gears and gleaming parts. Heck, it even had a puncture repair kit. She’d never even _bothered_ to buy one of those.

_How hard had she hit her head?_

The demon sighed, at the girl staring disbelievingly at the bike. _Of course_ Aziraphale had to overfix it. That angel did more good than it was worth.

However, that luggage rack was far from good. It looked like it had materialised straight out of the fifties. Aziraphale really needed to work on his fashion taste.

Suddenly, a tape in the Bentley started playing, bursting through the silence. Aziraphale jumped.

“Goodness, dear, you really need to get that fixed,” he said to Crowley. The demon shrugged.

“I’ve tried, angel. It never works. The Bentley almost has a mind of it’s own.”

The dark eyes from the rear-view mirror widened. ‘ _Angel?'_ they asked. Crowley fought the urge to wink.

As he drove on, he paid more attention to the music. Trying to suppress a laugh, he kept his eyes firmly on the road.

 

_Bicycle, bicycle, bicycle_

_I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle_

_I want to ride my bicycle_

_I want to ride my bike_

_I want to ride my bicycle_

_I want to ride it where I like_

Aziraphale frowned confusedly at the demon, who was repressing giggles.

“My dear, what on Earth is so funny?” he asked. Crowley didn’t answer, shaking his head. Anathema gazed at him in suspicion, biting her lip. “My house is just here,” she said. It wasn’t, but she didn’t really feel like dirtying her knife tonight. Besides, it was close enough by.

Suddenly, the bike was unstrapped from the rack and leaned against the smooth black of the Bentley. Crowley went to give Aziraphale a sharp look, but he was already outside, bowing theatrically. The demon rolled his eyes from behind his shades.

“Yes, alright, alright. Goodnight, miss. Get _in_ , angel.”

He saw Anathema look suddenly relieved, and smirked at her knowingly. He even winked.

As they drove off, Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “Now dear, what was it that was so funny?” Crowley just turned up the music, and watched realisation wash over the angel’s face.

 

_Bicycle race, bicycle race, bicycle race_

_Bicycle, bicycle, bicycle_

_I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle, bicycle_

_I want a bicycle race._

They stared at each other for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter. They laughed and laughed, and couldn’t stop. They laughed until Aziraphale was wiping away tears and Crowley’s sunglasses fell off, and still they kept laughing.

 

_I want to ride my bicycle_

_I want to ride it where I like._

 

***

It was a nice day.

The sun shimmered down from above, rays bouncing from the sleek black car. Clouds floated dreamily across the blue sky.

And by the lake, an angel and a demon sat. Together.

The ducks quacked noisily, pestering the two for more bread. Their webbed feet prodded the ground, squelching in the slightly damp earth.

The angel tossed his last scrap of bread, and smiled expectantly at his companion. Idly, he flicked a blonde curl away from his face, letting the light bounce around him.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, enraptured at his perfection. Sometimes, briefly, he wished he were an angel, so he could be as perfect as him. When the sun shone on his honey coloured hair, and his light eyes shimmered, he really wished he were an angel. He wondered if Aziraphale thought the same, and wished he were a demon.

Probably not. He was just too...angelic to ever wish to be a demon.

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked, flashing a small smile at Crowley. The demon nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in reply.

“Just thinking,” he replied.

“What about?”

Crowley just shook his head. “Nothing.”

Aziraphale smiled vacantly, peering at the time on Crowley’s watch. They’d been at the lake for longer than he expected.

“I’ve got a lot to do,” he hinted, and Crowley got the hint. The Bentley’s engine roared to life, and they both disappeared, and reappeared into the car.

Nobody noticed, not even the ducks. They had long since become used to people disappearing every now and then. Especially those two.

Aziraphale giggled, eyes alight. His face was the one of someone who is doing something they shouldn’t, but secretly really enjoying it. Crowley noticed, and grinned devilishly, before revving up the engine and starting to drive.

“You know, someone’s going to notice us one day,” the angel said, trying to reprimand. “We could get caught.”

“Pssh,” Crowley dismissed, waving a hand. “Have a little fun, angel.”

Aziraphale haughty expression softened. “This has been fun,” he said, warmly.

Crowley nodded in return. “Yeah. It has.”

He tapped his fingers to the music that was gently playing, humming absently. Aziraphale looked up at him, eyes shining with a strange light.

 

_This thing called love, I just can't handle it_

_this thing called love I must get round to it_

_I ain't ready_

_Crazy little thing called love_

 

A laugh escaped Aziraphale’s throat, as he marvelled at the seemingly psychic car.

“This bloody car,” grumbled Crowley, and Aziraphale laughed harder.

“Dear, is your car trying to...set us up?”

“Shut up, angel.”

Aziraphale leaned in, and kissed Crowley.

He tasted like ashes and cinnamon, and like recklessness and temptation, and it was utterly _amazing._ His yellow eyes stared at the angel, wide and disbelieving, before closing and melting into the kiss. They were perfect together, the scent of ashes and old books mingling and mixing in a wild frenzy of passion. They melted into each other, enraptured in the feeling of utter, complete _love._

After what could have been two seconds or a lifetime, they broke apart, out of breath. Crowley grinned, eyes glowing with happiness.

“Is this the real life?” he sang cheesily, completely out of tune and awful. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“You dork,” he said, and Freddie Mercury’s voice swelled as they drove on home.

 

_This thing called love, I just can't handle it_

_this thing called love I must get round to it_

_I ain't ready_

_Crazy little thing called love._


End file.
